


shaped in chocolates (and a flower)

by isuilde



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Unrepentant Fluff, Valentine’s Day fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: Tsuzuru looks at the obviously hand-wrapped present in her arms, at the bright flushed cheeks, at the way her fingers shake. He’s obviously about to get a confession and perhaps a honmei chocolate for the first time in his life, and that thought alone should be enough to send his heart racing, because as Kazunari once says,honmei chocolate is a guy’s roman!Except—there are strong feelings within that present, within the trembling fingers carefully gripping it, and they aren’t ones Tsuzuru can answer. He wishes he could at least listen to them, wishes he could at least give those feelings somewhere to go, so they don’t simply disappear before finding a shape, but—“Go,” Tsuzuru hears, the voice pitched low enough under the white cacophony that is their campus’ cafeteria during lunch time so that he’s the only one who could hear it. A warm hand on the small of his back, a brief, comforting touch. A smile underneath the gentle words that follow. “Listen to her. I’ll be waiting here.”





	shaped in chocolates (and a flower)

**Author's Note:**

> there’s this....tiny raft fighter within me who raises up when i get into really minor ships and goes HA YOU THINK YOU CAN KEEP ME DOWN, THINK AGAIN
> 
> and so uhhh, here’s another omitsuzu.

This year, Valentine’s Day falls on a Thursday.

There are so many hearts and pink ribbons and flowers and _Limited Valentine’s Day!_ promotions literally everywhere for the past month that those—and Kazunari’s excitement—are practically the new normal already. Tsuzuru gets friendly chocolates from his classmates: little blocks of convenience store chocolates or slim boxes of pocky with a thank-you sticker stuck on a corner. He goes out for lunch after his second-period class and gets a small bag of marshmallows from the Sweets Research Circle, which goes to the side of his bag so he can give it to Hisoka later. It’s like New Year’s—the act of receiving friendly chocolates every year as routine as going to the shrine for hatsumode, seasonal enough to make it fun, but not special enough to make it feel like a novel experience.

He tells this to Omi and Juuza over a fancy box of toffee that his junior in the Literature Club had handed him (“For Mankai Company,” she had said with the most hopeful look, “I’m really looking forward to the next play!”), and gets a chuckle from Omi. “Muku would be sad,” Omi comments airily, a tissue on his hand to offer to Juuza when the youngest of them starts licking his fingers to get the remnants of chocolate on his fingers. “That our playwright doesn’t seem to think Valentine’s Day is romantic.”

“I’m not saying that it’s not romantic, it just doesn’t feel special—“ Tsuzuru trails off, because a girl is standing by their table, a box of cutely-wrapped present held within shaky arms and her cheeks a gorgeous shade of red, eyes filled with both hope and trepidation and that’s enough signs for anyone to tell what she is about to do.

“Oh,” Juuza says; the awkward one who always fails to read the atmosphere is apparently the only one who recognizes the girl. “Kamimura-senpai.”

“Um,” she squeaks, lips forming a name almost breathlessly. “Minagi...Tsuzuru-kun...?”

It takes Tsuzuru a moment for the situation to click. “Ah,” he says, suddenly bashful, and at the same time Omi makes a noise of understanding. He glances back at Omi, then hesitantly at Juuza, before turning back to the girl. “Um, I’m—“

“C-can I,” she loses the next word, visibly grasping for the missing syllables beforew starting over. “Can I? Talk to you for a second?”

Tsuzuru looks at the obviously hand-wrapped present in her arms, at the bright flushed cheeks, at the way her fingers shake. He’s obviously about to get a confession and perhaps a honmei chocolate for the first time in his life, and that thought alone should be enough to send his heart racing, because as Kazunari once says, _honmei chocolate is a guy’s roman!_

Except—there are strong feelings within that present, within the trembling fingers carefully gripping it, and they aren’t ones Tsuzuru can answer. He wishes he could at least listen to them, wishes he could at least give those feelings somewhere to go, so they don’t simply disappear before finding a shape, but—

“Go,” Tsuzuru hears, the voice pitched low enough under the white cacophony that is their campus’ cafeteria during lunch time so that he’s the only one who could hear it. A warm hand on the small of his back, a brief, comforting touch. A smile underneath the gentle words that follow. “Listen to her. I’ll be waiting here.”

 _Ah,_ Tsuzuru thinks, warm and fond. _You’re too good to others._

 

**——-o0o——-**

“I’m happy to hear that... that Senpai likes me, but—I’m already in a relationship..”

Her tears are beautiful against the intricate pattern of the brown-colored wrapping paper. Her smile, when it returns, is a thousand times more brilliant than the red ribbon on the corner of the present, hiding the pain of heartbreak as she hands him the present anyway.

Tsuzuru takes it. Takes the present with an apology that means nothing, takes in her shaky laugh that tells him not to worry, and lets her pain hurts him, too. This girl, a stranger to him, still, who had held out her heart to Tsuzuru sincerely, and all Tsuzuru can do is break it.

He can only hope he’d make a clean enough break that she’ll heal quickly.

 

**——-o0o——-**

When he comes back to their table, Juuza is leaving for his third period class and only catches him with a nod goodbye. Tsuzuru slides back into his seat next to Omi, placing the present carefully by the fragile camera lenses that Omi lines up on the table, and doesn’t say anything.

Omi gently raises a lens over his eye to peer at the lights. “Did she cry?”

The smile curving over Tsuzuru’s lips is slightly bitter. “I properly waited until she stopped crying.”

The fingers polishing the lens pause ever so slightly, and Omi looks up, glances at Tsuzuru and laughs softly. The way the corners of his eyes crinkle, gentle and fond and warm, makes something in Tsuzuru’s chest tighten.

“You’re too good to others, Tsuzuru.”

 _That’s you,_ Tsuzuru wants to say, but finds no words to give the warmth within him a shape. It curls just under his throat, tickles the back of his tongue with almost-words but all that comes out is a rush of breath that doesn’t explain anything, and Tsuzuru is so, so envious of Kamimura-senpai for finding a way to turn these feelings into something tangible, something to give, something _real._

Omi places the last of the lenses he’s polishing onto the table, and makes a small noise like he’d just remembered something before twisting around to rummage in his backpack, abandoned by his other foot. “That’s right, I should give this to you before it gets cold,” he says, and fishes out a small, black travel mug. There’s a round, tiny yellow flowerhead bobbing on the side, tacked neatly beneath a green ribbon and a _washi_ tape. “I’m experimenting with some spices, see. It’s cold today, so I thought it’d be perfect.”

Their fingers brush for a second too long—Tsuzuru can’t tear his eyes off the tiny yellow fluff of a flower tickling the tip of his thumb. Omi uncaps the mug for him carefully before letting go, and the rich scent of hot cocoa, cinnamon and nutmeg dances up into his nostrils, so good he can taste it at the back of his throat already. Valentine’s Day, his brain reminds him, just in time for the heat that crawls up his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“Omi-san..” he says, when Omi’s chuckle washes over him. He’s glad Omi would have to reassemble his camera if he wants to catch a candid of Tsuzuru blushing beet red. Ah, so much for thinking Valentine’s Day isn’t anything special.

His thumb catches on the tiny yellow flower again—not a dandelion, he realizes. It’s hard to notice, since he usually sees this flower in clusters of tiny fluffs over a flowering branch when March comes, but helping Tsumugi out at the inner garden lately means seeing the evergreen acacia tree in full bloom too.

Yellow acacia. How apt.

Tsuzuru hides his smile behind the rims of the travel mug, sipping the rich, delightful hot chocolate and enjoys the warm liquid washing down all the feelings tickling at his throat. He still can’t find the words to properly express them—not like the elegantly hand-wrapped present and the pitter-patter tears Kamimura-senpai had shed earlier—but he hopes, as he presses his shoulder against Omi’s own, that Omi understands, anyway.

“Maybe I’ll ask Muku for Valentine’s Day stories recommendation.”

“Oh? As expected of our playwright.”

“Thank you, Omi-san. This is really delicious.”

“Mm. I’m glad.”

The one tiny yellow acacia flowerhead tickles the tip of Tsuzuru’s thumb, a whisper of warm beginning of a story: maybe next time, next time, he’ll find a way to shape this secret love into tangible words.

 

**——-o0o——-**

**Author's Note:**

> Yellow Acacia (ミモザ) language: secret love, friendship.
> 
> (currently dying over nishiyama koutarou in Luke’s costume and over kumagai kentarou in Wolf’s costume (again) thanks blooming live kobe)


End file.
